


Mistletoe Kisses

by Arcturus_Sinclair



Series: 31 Day Holiday Fic Series [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: DECFANFIC, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcturus_Sinclair/pseuds/Arcturus_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky doesn't understand mistletoe. He does, however, understand kissing. And kissing Natasha is like coming home.<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/collections/decfanfic/profile#rules">December Fanfic Challenge</a>, the prompt being mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe Kisses

You're frozen in place, confusion coloring your features. Above you was an offending piece of green and red. That _thing_ was what was confusing you. Well, that and the look of...amusement on Natasha's face.

“It's mistletoe,” Bruce pointed out, chuckling. He took a sip from his glass as his eyes flicked between you and Natasha. You had to take a moment to thank whatever it was you believed in these days that it was Natasha standing there and not Steve.

Because Steve would have been awkward, Steve would have been complicated. And Steve was here with Sharon, and even with they weren't a couple, kissing someone else's plus one just seemed wrong? Natasha, on the other hand, was safe. Natasha was familiar. Even if his mind couldn't remember everything they'd been, he could feel the safety she brought.

You raise your eyes to Natasha's finally, to see she's still smiling. She leans forward, breath ghosting over your face when she speaks.

“We don't have to do this. No one will fault you, hell, we're Russian, this isn't our tradition.”

You chuckle, not pointing out that neither of you really know what your traditions are. Except, that's not true, is it? You did play married well enough during a holiday. But, that's not the point. The point is, you do want to kiss Natasha. And you don't care that you're standing in the middle of the common room, with all the Avengers watching.

You close the gap and—gently Winter gently—kiss Natasha. You feel the intake of breath, the way she freezes for a millisecond; you don't fault her for it though. You have hurt her, you have tried to kill her, you would have reacted in the same way. You do not fault her for anything.

In fact, you start to pull back, to tell her it's okay, to tell her that you don't have to do this; but then her fingers curl around the back of your neck and she sighs into your mouth, and you're kissing. Your flesh arm wraps around her waist while your metal arm stays firmly at your side. You take a moment to log what she tastes like; mint, cocoa (there was some at the table, hers was spiked with something that tasted like cinnamon) and a taste that was just Natasha. (That taste was like smoke, gunpowder, and spice all rolled into one. It brought back feeling memories. Felling memories were the ones where no actual memories came back, but the feelings were ones you felt before. Like an odd deja vu.)

She sighs again, biting down on your lip hard enough to sting, while pulling your metal arm around her waist. You feel ridiculous for a moment, as if she hadn't felt the metal on her skin before. Hell, she'd felt more than that on her skin. But that wasn't something you could think about.

_Back when the trauma was lesser, or at least your comprehension of it was dimmer, you know you'd felt things. You can see it like a scene from a picturebook, snapshots and all: here, where her foot hits your stomach and folds you over; here, you hit the ground and she extends a hand to help you up and it sends shocks racing through your entire body; here, the way dragging her close crawls up your spine like a living thing. You can picture it, but you can't quite make sense of it._

_I's like you have to pick--you can feel things, in your mind, or you can feel them in your body. your ability to do both at once was stripped from you you don't know when and you don't know when you'll get it back, or if you ever will, which means that what you had felt then, what you know you have felt in the past and may eventually feel again in the future, was real and no longer is, or maybe the inverse--maybe it was delivered to you whole with your training, and now you are reasserting yourself, you don't know. what matters is this: past you had. current you doesn't._

And the bite was clearly sharing the sentiment of your familiar touches; and maybe the sentiment that you were being too gentle. The two of you never were good at gentle, you remember as an unfamiliar heat flashes through you.

You realize that everything was too quiet, and you pull back, glancing around while resting your head against Natasha's. From what you can tell, everyone had left the room. You should feel guilty about that, about driving everyone away because of your own selfish desires. But Natasha was soft and warm, something you knew she wouldn't want to hear, and you just wanted to stay there for a few moments longer.

Natasha hums, tucking her head under your chin and it's your turn to sigh, your fingers curling into her shirt. You'd be content to stay there like that forever.

“Maybe we should let the others know that it's safe to come back in?” You murmur the words, grudgingly, not wanting to ruin everyone else's time, but wanting this moment to last.

“Or we could freak everyone out by me moaning obnoxiously loud?” The suggestion startles a laugh from you, while you lean down to drop a kiss to her head.

“As amusing as that would be, we do still have to live with them tomorrow. And that might start a terrible prank war.” Natasha pulls back enough to raise an eyebrow at you, grinning.

“Was that supposed to deter me?” You roll your eyes, chuckling.

“Maybe.” You steal another kiss before stepping away. You settle yourself on the couch as Natasha crosses the room to open the door, revealing Steve and Tony lurking behind it. Steve, at least, has the decency to look ashamed and duck his head. Tony just crosses the room to pat your shoulder, making you twitch, and adds:

“Way to go, Ghost.” Ghost was his nickname for you, and you can't say you minded it all that much. It was what you were, and it was yours. However, you just roll your eyes, shaking the hand off. Tony just chuckled, not at all offended by the lack of acceptance to his touch. Hell, he was probably glad you hadn't broken his hand like last time. Oops.

Steve, on the other hand, looks embarrassed and uncomfortable. This would normally amuse you, but honestly, it was ruining the warm feeling you had. Natasha noticed and rolled her eyes, settling herself in your lap.

“Rogers, relax. We've done worse than that on missions. It doesn't mean we're going to making out every time you look. If anything else happens, we'll make sure to be alone.” The last of her words were directed towards you, and it made you relax a little bit. There was no expectation that anything would happen after this.

And for now? Everyone settled down and the TV was turned on. You wrap an arm around Natasha's waist, pulling her closer and just inhaling her scent.

You think you could definitely get used to this. 

**Author's Note:**

> The italic bits belong to [Beeche](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beechee/pseuds/beechee), who is lovely and so much help. Actually whole confusing part is what took me so long to do this. I've been writing this for three days. Three. However, have some cute to make up for it.
> 
> Kudos and reviews give me life, and might make me move faster. (Doubtful because I'm slow but still.)


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